


the night we met

by hanzios



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M, Origin Story, andres and martin meet in their early-20's, engineer martin hhhhhhng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 13:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Despite their long history, the beginning of Andres and Martin's friendship was anything but normal.





	the night we met

Madrid was beautiful, in a way that Hallmark tourist postcards were beautiful. Martin had looked at plenty of pictures of the city before moving over, but nothing beats the real thing up close. In a way, the bustling city was similar to Buenos Aires, only it's slightly more… _European_. With its fine architecture and big, elegant buildings, Martin felt small and out of place.

It was still 8PM when he’d left his office building, two rolls of blueprints in enclosed cases in his arms and an engineer’s bag over his shoulder. Most of his co-workers would’ve been hitting the bars right now, and he’s not an introvert – not at all – but he didn’t particularly like his colleagues. They were, for lack of better term, uninteresting. The office was always heated with discussion on football, telenovelas, and _children_. It bored him endlessly. Martin didn’t want to know what their after-hour conversations consisted of.

Most of his nights were spent in bars with the farthest proximity to his workplace, and tonight wasn’t different from the previous ones. He’d reached his favorite unnamed bar after fifteen minutes of walking, already a regular.

“Pablo! How’s business going?” The bar was almost empty, save for a group of friends in one table and a couple of drunkards at the stools. A man whom Martin assumed was already wasted off his mind was hunched over the seat near him. There was a faint Spanish melody playing in the background, a song Martin had already grown accustomed to.

“Eh, it’s business,” Pablo, a pudgy, old, bearded man, moved his way over to him. “You’ll have tequila shots, I take it?”

“Nothing finer, _cariño_.”

Pablo was quick to give him his orders, and Martin took the two shots immediately. The heat of the alcohol burned through the inside of his throat until it reached his chest. Martin licked his lips, and ordered a fancy beer.

“Is your job really that bad?”

Martin turned to his right. The man whom he thought was dead wasn’t so drunk after all. Maybe even handsome, if his large hat wasn’t casting odd shadows on his face. “Excuse me?”

The man nodded at Martin’s things at the bottom of the stool, and turned back to him with a smirk. “Your job. I assume it must be so awful that you had to take two shots without breathing.”

Martin raised a brow, amused. He pondered, before saying, “The job is fine. I hate the people.”

The man suddenly stood up from his seat and occupied the one next to Martin, removing his big black hat and setting it on the table. Martin watched him move so elegantly, and when he saw his face, almost forgot how to breathe. “Architect?”

Martin took a sip from his beer. “Engineer. You?”

He ordered a glass of wine before responding, “I’m an artist. I’m good with my hands.”

A blush crept through Martin’s cheeks._”Oh_. What kind?”

The other man noticed. He took a sip of his red wine while staring daggers through Martin’s head. “I paint. I sculpt.” He brought his slender hands to Martin’s chin, tilting his face over as if examining a model; The Argentine man couldn’t help but hold his breath. “You have beautiful features. What’s your name again?” His hands slithered down to his shoulder, to his arm, and Martin suddenly was able to think again.

“Martin. You?”

“Andres. You’re not from here, are you?”

“What gave it away?”

“Your accent is beautiful,” Andres let out a low, bashful laugh. “Let me guess… Mexico?”

Martin shook his head, smiling. “You were close, _mi amigo_. I’m from Argentina.”

Andres smiled. Martin could grow to like that smile. Still, there was something off-putting about the dark-haired man in front of him. His facial expressions seemed fabricated, every touch of his lines, calculated. Martin has spent enough time in the world of crime to know a con-artist when he saw one. However, he hasn’t met a con-man as beautiful as Andres, and he was willing to turn a blind eye just this once if it meant talking to him through the night.

To Martin’s dismay, Andres looked at his watch and frowned. “I’m sorry, Martin, but I must be going.” He stood up and put a hand on Martin’s back, a small smile on his face.

Martin nodded. “Of course. I’ll see you again?”

Andres was already starting to walk away. “Sure. See you.”

The moment Andres had gone, Martin took from his pocket a black leather wallet. It wasn’t his; Martin’s worn brown one was gone, as he’d expected. In an instant, he took out a 50-euro bill and slammed it on Pablo’s counter before grabbing his things and running to the direction Andres went.

The crowd is thin on the sidewalk. It was easy for Martin to spot the sharp-shouldered man with his ridiculously large hat. _You meet a handsome man in Madrid and he ends up pickpocketing you_, Martin thought. _I’m starting to miss Buenos Aires_.

Andres turns to an alleyway, head low, and Martin follows, almost dropping his things in the process. When they’re alone, he calls his name.

“_Andres_.”

He turned, and sure enough, the charming, friendly demeanor was gone. Instead of a soft smile, Andres was smirking. “Martin? What seems to be the problem?”

“You have something that’s mine, asshole.”

“What?” Andres chuckled darkly.

The corner of Martin’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “I don’t have to pry my wallet out of you, do I? You wouldn’t like it, trust me.”

Andres slowly walked closer to him, two hands helped up. “What makes you think I have it, Martin? A newly-graduated engineer from Argentina must have a shabby salary.”

Martin nodded, a laugh escaping from his throat. “I do. But it seems like _your_ job pays well.” He took out the black wallet that was sitting on his pocket, and suddenly Andres’ face fell, stopping in his tracks. They’re only two meters away from each other, and Martin could see the shock in the man’s brown eyes.

“You really are full of surprises, Martin.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“So are you really an engineer or are those just props?”

“I am; I just have sticky fingers,” Martin said, smirking. “And I take it you’re not an artist?”

Andres matched his smile. “Thievery is art, is it not?”

Martin almost laughed. “I may be a thief, but I’m not delusional. Your pretentiousness to your ‘art’ sure is something else.” He paused, before adding, “But I must say, I’m interested. How about we talk to my friend Jack?”

Andres raised a perfect eyebrow. “Jack?”

Martin grinned. “Daniels. He’s a good listener.”

Andres fished Martin’s wallet from his jacket, and the both exchanged goods. He put an arm over Martin’s shoulder as they walked out of the dim-lit alley together. “That was the first time someone played me at my game, Martin. You have me curious.”

“You're good, Andres. But sadly, I'm better.”

At that, the both of them laughed. Their shoulders brushed against each other easily, as if they've known each other their whole lives. There was an easiness to being around Andres, Martin thought, now that he put his defenses down. He looked around the city around him and then at his new friend, and thought, maybe Madrid isn't so bad after all.


End file.
